


And so I wasn't afraid (to fall in love)

by RavenXavier



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bullying, Enjolras Was A Charming Young Man Who Was Capable Of Being Terrible, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:06:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1680992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenXavier/pseuds/RavenXavier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em> “We’re just having a bit of fun, man,” Thierry says.</em>
</p><p>  <em>“Are you?” Enjolras says, his voice admirably controlled, his lips pursed in anger.</em></p><p> <em>“Actually, I think they were about to beat me up,” Grantaire blurts out, feeling inexplicably brave. </em></p><p> </p><p>(Enjolras is the terror of the school, and Grantaire is the new kid he takes under his protection)</p>
            </blockquote>





	And so I wasn't afraid (to fall in love)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello guys! This story is very highly inspired by [ this headcanon ](http://besanii.tumblr.com/post/86598147903/what-if-enjolras-wasnt-the-school-president-tho-what) on Tumblr - I realize that it was supposed to be written in a sort of anime style? But I just... don't know a single thing about anime, so I really hope that it works the way I've written it, and I'm not going to offence anyone with this. 
> 
> Thanks to [ Sceptiqueveille ](http://sceptiqueveille.tumblr.com) who kindly read this story before I published it and actually encouraged me to write it, otherwise it would have probably stayed an idea in my mind. 
> 
> I really hope you guys are going to enjoy it :).

1.

Grantaire is sitting next to his mother’s bed, as he is always every time he comes back from school now, when his father briskly opens the door and enters, looking at the scene in front of him with a mixture of disdain, resentment and genuine sadness. Grantaire isn’t surprised, because that’s basically the only face his father is capable of doing these days. He barely glances at him before going back to his book, ready to resume the story he was reading to his mother, but then his father clears his throat loudly, and Grantaire knows that it can’t be good.

Yukimasa Katô always clears his throat before he has to give bad news.

“I’ve been talking the president of the university,” he says, his mouth curved downwards. “I explained our situation, and he made arrangement for me with the university La Sorbonne, in France. Your wish is becoming true, Sophie. We’re moving to Paris.”

Grantaire’s mother, who’d been passively listening to her son until now, a vague smile on her face, seems to come alive all at once as soon as she hears “Paris”. She straightens up on the bed, looking at her husband with a gleeful look.

“Paris?” She exclaims, delighted.

Yukimasa’s face softens a little, as it always does when his wife speaks to him coherently: “Yes, Paris. Your family wanted you back, but I wasn’t going to let you leave alone.”

Grantaire smiles when his mother turns towards him, repeating: “Paris!” and then “You’re going to love Paris, Rai, it’s so beautiful.”

And Grantaire - who’s been calling himself Grantaire privately for a while now, because it’s his mother’s maiden name and it feels right in all the ways “Katô” doesn’t - is obviously as happy as she, because _Paris_. This is his mother’s home city, the one she left for love, but never really let go of in her mind. Paris, which she used to describe tenderly to Grantaire when he was small, whispering to him in French about the long avenues boarding La Seine, the little streets were no cars could go, the busy but classy atmosphere, the pride of the people - she told him all, and Grantaire has been dreaming of France since then, and especially Paris. Plane tickets, however, are expensive, and his father has always been reluctant about visiting Sophie’s family.

Paris became a dream; a marvellous place he hoped he would be able to go to, one day, maybe to study. But then his mother got sick, and she kept imploring for Paris, and Grantaire will never, ever say that he’s happy for his mother’s sickness because this is the worse thing that ever happened to him but -

_Paris._

“There is a prestigious International high-school there, Rai,” his father says, bringing back Grantaire to reality. “ _Le Lycée Honoré de Balzac_. Of course, there are tests to be allowed to study there, and I expect you to study seriously for them - especially the math test, your grades have been terrible lately.”

Grantaire doesn’t look at him when he nods in agreement, so his father doesn’t see his grimace. _Paris,_ he whispers to himself encouragingly, _is worth all the headaches that numbers give him._

2.

Grantaire, foolishly, had hoped that he’d managed to make friends here. He’d never fitted in with his old classmates; he looked too european for them, because he’s got his mother’s eyes, blue and too big, and her nose (too big too) and her broad shoulders. He couldn’t even say he was handsome to make up for it, because he wasn’t. At all. By all standards of beauty, his face didn’t work, and apparently, kids had a hard time accepting that, so they just avoided him at best, or make disobliging remarks with amused smirks and loud laughs at worse.

Apparently, in this _Lycée_ , he looks too Japanese - or, well, Asian.

After his first disastrous math lesson, some guy named Thierry follows him into the corridors.

“Hey, Chinese Boy, aren’t you guys supposed to be good with numbers? If you can’t even solve a simple identity, maybe you should’ve stick to taking pictures of the Eiffel Tower!”

Thierry’s friends predictably laugh. Grantaire thinks about telling them he’s not Chinese, and then decides that it isn’t worth the effort, because they’re probably not going to listen to him anyway. He sighs, and he ignores them.

(It’s a mistake. Apparently, French bullies don’t like that, indifference.)

3.

There are nice enough people here though. For example, Floreal, who comes from Spain and has taken the option _Arts Plastiques_ with Grantaire. She’s happy enough to chat with him while they are trying to find a way to please their teacher, who gave them vague instructions about the sky and imposed wood for their final piece. She tells him about Thierry’s band: they are all Parisian, terribly proud of it and are studying in the school because their parents are rich and powerful and want their kids to have an international success, instead of restraining themselves to France.

She tells him about the smart kids you can go to when you don’t understand stuff, and the teachers that are actually here to help you, and her friend-but-maybe-more Irma, and all the prejudices that really shouldn’t have their place in an _International_ school, but what can you do about it.

And then she tells him about Les Amis, in a whisper.

“If you’re scared of Thierry, then don’t even think of _approaching_ Les Amis, especially their Leader. Enjolras he’s called - he’s Parisian, too, so hot you could die just by looking at him but seriously, don’t even try to talk to him. He spends his time yelling at other kids and sometimes teachers. He’s always skipping class to smoke on the roof with his friends. He’s a bad sort, really. I think he’s still at the school only because his mother is friend with the Proviseur.”

“It can’t be that bad, really,” Grantaire says half-amused.

Floreal looks at him gravely and then leans slightly towards him, covering his hand with hers.  

“Last year, he apparently killed a man,” she says.

Grantaire tries to find a glimpse of mockery or amusement in her eyes, but there is only solemnity and fear. He clears his throat, and promises himself to stay as far away from that Enjolras as possible.

4.

Of course, the next morning, he bumps into Enjolras.

There is no mistaking who this is. Everybody is required to wear a uniform here, but instead of the regular blue navy blazer, Enjolras has a bright red jacket with golden buttons, long blond hair that seems to perpetually shine, red lips, and strangely perfect eyeliner, something that is probably not allowed for boys. He’s also a head taller than Grantaire, and looks down at him with an intensity that makes Grantaire feels weak on his knees.

“Sorry,” he mutters feebly, incapable of turning his eyes away from the blond boy.

(Floreal really wasn’t lying about the “hot” part of her description. But neither was she about “scary”)

Enjolras spends an awful long time just _scrutinizing_ him, until one of his friend - a small, curly brown-haired boy, takes him by the arm (the arm! isn’t he afraid Enjolras is going to cut his hand off?) and pulls him forwards:

“Come on, Enjolras, you’ve got to make some teachers  cry, you don’t want to be late for that!”

Enjolras rolls his eyes, and takes one last look to Grantaire, who swallows with difficulty.

“Look where you’re going, next time,” he says with a low voice.

Grantaire isn’t sure he’s breathing properly as he watches him go.

5.

It’s the last he sees of Enjolras for the next two months, because Enjolras is in Terminale, while Grantaire is only in Seconde. Unfortunately, he sees Thierry and his band of idiots a lot more, and they begin to regularly harass him in the corridors, but also in class, particularly in maths (it doesn’t help Grantaire concentrate, and it doesn’t help his grades, and the frown between his father’s brows is more and more pronounced and it’s _unfair_ )

As the days pass, his mother gets sicker, her family acts like Grantaire’s father doesn’t exist and looks at Grantaire as if they don’t quite know what to do with him. His father, though, pays too much attention to _him_ , and not the nice kind, unfortunately. After another bad result in science, Yukimasa screams his disappointment at him for two hours, and refuses to acknowledge the A he had in Literature and Art. At the end, fed up and trying very hard not to cry, Grantaire interrupts another sentence beginning by “you should be ashamed, Rai,” by screaming “Don’t call me Rai, my name’s Grantaire,” and his father looks like he’s been physically punched.

Grantaire thinks _good_ and locks himself in his room.

6.

It’s hard. Everything’s hard. That night, for the first time since he arrived in Paris, Grantaire cuts his wrist, and he’s only able to stop crying once he’s drained enough blood from it.

7.

Obviously, he is not so keen on being bullied the day after, and when Thierry comes to him once more just before lunch, Grantaire has a very hard time restraining his anger. He’s angry at Thierry for attacking him for no reason, he’s angry at the four other  boys who are always with him, he’s angry at himself for not being able to fight them and he’s angry at his father, because if only Yukimasa had let him take box classes, like he wanted to when he was younger, then he’d be able to punch all those assholes and have a chance to actually _win._

Instead, when one of Thierry’s thugs pushes him against the lockers, he snaps and yells:

“Just leave me the fuck alone!”

It’s the first time he actually says anything remotely aggressive, and the thug whistles mockingly, while Thierry moves forwards, getting uncomfortably close to Grantaire.

“Look at that, Chinese boy has balls after all!” he sneers.

“I’m not Chinese, I’m Japanese, you uncultured imbecile!” Grantaire groans.

(Maybe, he thinks distantly, he does want to get hit once and for all.)

“What did you say to me?” Thierry asks, voice suddenly threatening.

 _Are you deaf?_ Grantaire is about to retort, because he apparently lost every bit of his self-preservation instincts in one night, but before he can open his mouth, someone else speaks from behind the bully, scarily calm:

“What the hell is going on, here?”

Everybody tenses. Thierry moves from Grantaire’s field of view, and Grantaire tries not to gape when he realizes that the voice belongs to Enjolras, who’s looking at Thierry and his friends like he’s about to pull a gun out of his trousers and shoot them. Thierry can obviously sense that, because he visibly _shrinks_ and it’s perhaps the most satisfying thing Grantaire has ever seen.

“We’re just having a bit of fun, man,” Thierry says.

“Are you?” Enjolras says, his voice admirably controlled, his lips pursed in anger.

“Actually, I think they were about to beat me up,” Grantaire blurts out, feeling inexplicably brave.

Enjolras moves so quickly that Grantaire has barely time to understand what’s happening. One minute Enjolras is three meters away from him, and then he’s next to him and gripping his shoulder tightly, looking menacingly at Thierry.

“This boy is mine,” he hisses dangerously. “If I see anyone of you even just _looking_ at him ever again, you’re going to experience first hand my wrath, and I’m sure none of you want that. Am I clear?”

When the boys fail to answer, pale and shaking with fear, Enjolras takes a step towards them.

 _“Am I clear?”_ he repeats, sounding ferocious (Grantaire has never felt safer in his _life_ )

“Yeah,” Thierry mutters. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Enjolras says. “Now get away from here before I change my mind about punching you.”

They all squatter so fast that Grantaire has barely time to blink. Once they’re alone in the corridor, Enjolras’ attention turns to him, and Grantaire knows he should be afraid, but even if Enjolras is still not smiling and looking at him with such intensity that it feels he’s going to burn, Grantaire’s only reaction is his heart that starts to beat quicker (and he’s pretty sure it’s not from fear).

“Thank you,” he says because he’s polite, and Enjolras saved him from having to explain to his parents why he’s got bruises on his face.

Enjolras just nods without releasing him. “What’s your name?” he asks.

“I’m Ra -” Grantaire begins and then stops and thinks about his fight with his father before correcting himself: “I’m Grantaire. But R is cool, too.”

He’s pretty sure he’s dreaming when Enjolras’  lips curls up ever so slightly:

“Nice pun,” he says, and then - because things aren’t unreal enough yet he adds: “Come on. You’re eating with us, today.”

8.

After that, Grantaire just hypothesizes that he’s fallen into some sort of alternate universe, because everything keeps getting stranger and stranger.

9.

First, Enjolras starts to accompany him to his classes.

The first time it happens, it’s _Arts Plastiques,_ and when Floreal sees them together (because Enjolras stays close, so damn close, and Grantaire learns rather quickly that he smells really good, too) she gapes openly, staring at them without any kind of subtlety whatsoever until Enjolras glares at her and she abruptly turns her head away.

She doesn’t sit with Grantaire that day, but next to another girl - Clarisse he thinks she’s called - and whispers to her the whole lesson, glancing at Grantaire every few minutes.

Grantaire can’t say if his situation genuinely improved or not.

10.

Then, one morning, Grantaire is reluctant to go to class, and admits it only after another stern look from Enjolras (it’s very hard to resist those). Enjolras raises one of his perfect eyebrows, takes out his phone and quickly tapes something on it, before taking Grantaire by the arm and leading him away from the classroom without a word (Enjolras, he’s learnt, doesn’t talk that much, except when he’s riled up about something).

Grantaire tries to ask where they’re going, but Enjolras just keeps pulling him forwards, and they take the stairs to the last floor of the Lycée. There, they’re joined by Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who are Enjolras’ best friends and co-leaders of the gang of Les Amis ( _“we’re not a gang,”_ Enjolras said the first time they ate together, and all of his friends booed, which made Grantaire smiled a little). They greet Grantaire amicably enough - they’re apparently getting used to him - and then usher them to a door hidden in a corner, in between the physics classrooms.

Because Grantaire is very slow sometimes, he doesn’t realize that Enjolras and his friends has led him to the roof until he can see Paris - La Seine, and the old buildings and of course the Eiffel Tower - they’re not so far from it here. The view is breathtaking. He kind of wants to paint it.

“You can do whatever you like,” Enjolras answers when Grantaire says it out loud without thinking.  

Enjolras is spread on his back, resting on his elbows, and he’s looking at Grantaire with that almost invisible smile of his that’s making more and more a mess of Grantaire. Combeferre and Courfeyrac sit next to him, chatting happily about what they’re going to do this week-end. After a moment, Grantaire sits crossed-legs next to Enjolras’ feet, takes out his sketchbook and begins to draw Paris in silence.  

He doesn’t know exactly how many time pass before Musichetta, Joly, Bossuet and Jehan join them, but when they arrive, Grantaire has already finished his first drawing and has started to reproduce the faces of Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac on paper.

With them, the conversations get louder, and because Joly and Bossuet never fail to include Grantaire as much as possible, he’s pretty soon enwrapped into a quick lesson about the parents of everyone.

“And my dad still think that he succeeded in France only because he changed our name!” Courfeyrac says passionately. “I mean, fuck, Curcerro was fine, right? It sounds awesome! But no, my father said _we need to sound French_ , and now we’re supposed to be _de Courfeyrac_. It’s so pretentious, isn’t it?”

“Why are you calling yourself Courfeyrac and not Curcerro, then?” Grantaire asks, confused.

“It was a thing with Combeferre and Enjolras when we were young,” Courfeyrac shrugs, beaming at his best friends. “We thought it sounded super clever, and Combeferre’s mom had said we weren’t allowed to call ourselves Liberté, Egalité and Fraternité, so that was it. It still sucks, though, I mean Musichetta wouldn’t even believe me when I said I was Italian when we first met!”

“It was perhaps a bit hypocritical of me,” Musichetta admits, grinning at Courfeyrac all the same, cigarette between her lips. “I mean, I’m Italian, and my last name is Maurier, so I’ve got nothing to say. Anyway, I think Courfeyrac’s dad got his pretentiousness from France - _my_ dad’s French, and not only he’s an asshole, he’s really arrogant, too.”

“Is that a thing between you all, asshole fathers?” Grantaire says. “‘Cause if it is, I guess I definitely belong with you guys.”

Courfeyrac and Musichetta laugh. Combeferre smiles at him: “My own father is a very nice man, and Joly’s and Bossuet’s are, too. I’m afraid there are other things you have to do to join us.”

“You are making it sound like we’re _actually_ a gang,” Enjolras says reprovingly.

“That’s because we _are_ ,” Bossuet says cheerfully. “You brought him to us, Enjolras, and we like him, but he’s got to follow the rites of passage.”

Enjolras sighs. Grantaire can’t help but finds this utterly charming, the way Enjolras just accepts everything his friends say, even if they’re being completely ridiculous.

“First step,” Joly says, “You’ve got to skip class and pretend to go smoke on the roof. You’ve done this today, so congratulation.”

“Second step,” Jehan says softly,”you have to smoke one of Enjolras’ cigarettes for him anyway.”

Grantaire looks at Enjolras with surprise. Enjolras does his semi-smile again, and takes his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, opening it to give one to Grantaire.

“I can’t smoke,” he says. “I’ve got asthma. Do you want me to light it up for you?”

Grantaire nods, and puts the cigarette between his lips. Enjolras leans towards him, and uses a bright red lighter - Grantaire can’t see where it comes from. He’s too busy realizing that Enjolras’ face is awfully close to him, and he almost loses his cigarette when Enjolras’ beautiful blue eyes meet his and he says dryly:

“Congratulations, second step achieved.”

Joly, Bossuet and Courfeyrac cheer unnecessarily loudly.

“Third step,” Courfeyrac said then, “You’ve got to come at the Musain.”

“Fourth, facing death on Enjolras’ motorcycle.”

“Fifth, wear something that doesn’t go with our uniform!”

After the fifth “step”, the propositions get more and more ridiculous and Grantaire just laughs (especially when Bossuet says gravely _“you have to wear pink on the 30th of April, this year”_ ) until Combeferre finally closes solemnly the conversation by saying: “One hundred and fourth - you’ve got to kill a man after he attacked an innocent person.”

Enjolras - and it’s real, Grantaire’s not hallucinating - Enjolras _groans_ at this one and closes his eyes, and it goes directly to Grantaire’s cock. He blushes and immediately brings his knees back to his chest, ignoring the way Courfeyrac smirks at him knowingly.

When they all get off the roof, it’s lunch time and Grantaire should be worried about missing classes (he’s never missed classes before) but Enjolras is walking next to him, and their arms keep brushing against each other, and it’s the sweetest torture possible.

In his ear, Courfeyrac whispers: “the last step is - you’ve got to kiss one of us.”

11.

On Friday, Grantaire goes to the Musain.

He meets Bahorel and Feuilly, who are both already at university, but this isn’t the big event of that evening. No, the only thing that Grantaire can remember when he gets out, it’s Enjolras’ sudden burst of passion about the future. Every word that comes out of his mouth is said with so much sincerity and belief that Grantaire thinks he could listen to them forever, even though if anybody else had spoken them, he would have found them rather naïve.

When Enjolras calms down, Grantaire almost wants to rise from his chair and clap loudly. Instead, he sends a stunned, admirative smile towards Enjolras, and blushes hard when Enjolras actually rises to meet him and asks him quietly if he would like to help them create art for their next flyer.

12.

In February, Grantaire’s mother has to be taken to the hospital - she doesn’t make any sense at all when she speaks now, and Grantaire’s father takes a leave from university to stay with her, pale and withdrawn. He still takes time to pester Grantaire about school though, and one night he even tells him angrily that he shouldn’t be so sad around his mother because _“seeing that kind of face isn’t going to help her get better”_

Grantaire, shaken up and feeling worse than ever, consider going home and coming back to the blade that’s hidden in his bedside table. Instead, he sends a message to Enjolras on an impulse, and he’s completely bewildered when, less than twenty minutes later, Enjolras comes get him at the hospital, wearing leather pants and a leather jacket and standing on a motorcycle painted in the colors of the French flag.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly when Grantaire approaches him.

“Not really,” Grantaire admits.

Enjolras’s fingers brush against his cheek, and his thumb gets ridiculously close to Grantaire’s lips: “I don’t like seeing you unhappy,” he murmurs, and then he abruptly takes a step back, leaving Grantaire breathless, and offers him an helmet.

“Let’s go,” he says. “Courfeyrac has the house for himself tonight, I’m sure he’ll organize some kind of last-minute party for you.”

(When they finally arrive to Courfeyrac’s, Grantaire understands why everybody thinks riding with Enjolras is a danger; the boy turns into a madman  when he’s driving.)

13.

After a while, Floreal sits back next to him in class. He smiles at her shyly, because he kind of missed her endless chatting, and she smiles back, putting her chin into her hand.

“So,” she says. “What’s it like to date the most dangerous boy of Paris?”

Grantaire blushes hard: “We’re not dating,” he manages to say.

Floreal snorts: “Sure.”

Grantaire doesn’t insist. Maybe because it’s nice, to imagine that maybe - just maybe - in another life - Enjolras could be interested in him that way. But his friendship is already much more than he could ever ask for, and it doesn’t matter if his heart (or his dick) won’t behave around Enjolras. Grantaire’s a big boy, he can deal with unrequited love, especially since it’s the last of his worries right now.

14.

A week into March, some girl named Francesca asks him on a date, out of the blue.

Before he can think of anything to say, Enjolras is suddenly at his side, and he stares down at the girl with such terrifying eyes that she’s leaving mere seconds later. Grantaire frowns and turns his head towards Enjolras because - what the hell? Maybe Francesca’s nice. Maybe it could have been nice, to go on a date - Grantaire’s never been on one, before.

But Enjolras looks angry, and he puts his arm around Grantaire’s shoulders stiffly, which reduces whatever Grantaire’s arguments were going to make to… nothing.

They walk like that to the math classroom. Thierry and his friends are here, and look everywhere but in the direction of Grantaire. Floreal is not far herself, holding hands with a fierce-looking red-head that Grantaire knows is Irma. She winks at him, and Enjolras’ grip tightens around him.

Grantaire’s so in love. He wishes every day could be like this.

15.

In April, Grantaire falls asleep at the hospital, holding his mother’s hand.

In the morning, it’s raining and he doesn’t have the time to go back home to take a warmer jacket. He arrives at school wet and shivering. Enjolras immediately spots him, frowns sternly, and quickly takes his jacket off to give it to him.

“What,” Grantaire says, because this is too much for his poor, tired self.

“I won’t have you sick,” Enjolras says. “Put this on, and then we’ll go to the bathroom to try to do something with your hair.”

Two boys who are passing at this moment smirk at them behind Enjolras’ back. Grantaire knows what they are thinking, and he blushes - these days, it seems like the only thing he knows how to do. He takes Enjolras’s jacket, puts it around his shoulders, and pretends he isn’t ready to get wet like this every day if it means he can keep wearing Enjolras’ clothes.

16.

Somewhere around May, Courfeyrac invites himself at Grantaire’s, brings Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta with him, and says: “God, your fashion sense is atrocious. Not as atrocious as Jehan but still. You need leather. You’re part of our gang now, and everybody knows that cool gang members wear leather.”

(Grantaire remembers Enjolras in his leather jacket, and doesn’t disagree.)

17.

Grantaire wears leather the next day at school. Whispers follow him as he makes his way through the corridor, and he keeps his head down until suddenly there are two familiar hands gripping his elbows. He looks up, and there is Enjolras, looking at him with furious splendor. He doesn’t know what it did wrong, but he’s too busy being blinded by Enjolras’ impossible beauty to be scared.

“You,” Enjolras growls. “You _insufferable_ boy.”

Grantaire blinks. “Sorry?” he says, still not understanding why he has to apologize.

“Everybody is looking at you!” Enjolras insists, shaking him a little.

“Well, I just want _you_ to look at me,” Grantaire blurts out without thinking.

Enjolras looks at him for a very long moment indeed. It feels like the first time they met, and Grantaire is exactly like he’d been in September, anxious about what Enjolras’ reaction is going to be. Like in September, he’s surprised -

18.

\- Enjolras kisses him.

It’s not a soft, hesitant kiss. This is a kiss that means _you are mine_ , and Grantaire can only melt into Enjolras’s arms, answering enthusiastically - if a bit clumsily, seeing as this is the first time he’s ever kissed someone - _yes, yes I am yours_.

Someone - it must be a teacher - lets out a cry of outrage in the distance. Grantaire couldn’t care less, but when the word “detention” is uttered, Enjolras lets go of his mouth (but still keeps one of his hands firmly on his back) and smiles at the teacher.

This is a wide, terrifyingly happy smile -Enjolras is showing his _teeth_ \- something that people have clearly never seen.

The teacher takes a step back.

Grantaire hides his face into Enjolras’ shoulder, and grins.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [ Tumblr ](http://somuchbetterthanthat.tumblr.com) if you want! :)


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